


Deus ex Rafael Barba

by Moniposa



Category: Law & Order: SVU
Genre: Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, F/M, I WOULD DIE 4 RAFAEL BARBA, Lawyers, Meet-Cute, One Shot, One-Sided Attraction, also barba is a lil mean but he warms up like a hot pocket, also y'all speakin a lil spanish bc my cubano man cubano CAN, for like a little bit, just for the cases nothing specific or graphic though, liv makes a guest appearance bc i love her...so much..., tw: for mentions of sexual assualt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-13
Updated: 2017-06-13
Packaged: 2018-11-13 14:21:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,909
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11186925
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moniposa/pseuds/Moniposa
Summary: Just like some sort of irritating skin rash, ADA Rafael Barba seems to always appear in the same courtroom as "Quicksilver". Known as the sly and quick-witted counselor by anyone who goes against her, she appears clumsy and light-hearted by anyone who underestimates her. Her new victim? Barba, of course. The possibilities for knocking him down a few pegs seem endless, and "Quicksilver" doesn't even know where to start (slow-burn fic).





	Deus ex Rafael Barba

**Author's Note:**

> shoutout to las brujas del apartamento 1625 for reminding me to write this fic - also big shoutout to all the Barba fans out there; ur fics give me life.

She knew it the moment she saw him. Short, peppered hair, a crisp, tan suit without a hint of dirt beneath the scrutiny of the fluorescents . . .

She hated him the moment he slid his hands into his pockets, a cool look sliding over his eyes when he glanced at her. And subsequently ignored her.

The bastard.

Tapping her fingers on the manila file to the left of her, ____ began to think through her arguments, noticing the way the brown desk seemed to almost blend in with her skin. That single look had thrown her off, and she hadn’t expected anything like it; who would? She walked into the courtroom, her heels hastily clacking on the tiles in an effort to redeem herself through timeliness after sleeping through three alarms. After waking up so late, she could only pull on the first blouse and pair of pants she could find -- floral print and peach wide leg pants.

Speed walking into the room, she brushed her dark hair aside and set her files down on her desk, eyes zoning in on the information in front of her. When she looked up to check the time, she caught sight of the other attorney and she _swore_ she heard him scoff under his breath.

____ blushed furiously - she hadn’t even said a word and she was already being treated like. . . like . . . this! God, this was just what she needed, an ass like him thinking she wasn’t good enough. As if all those years in law school and thereafter weren’t enough.

A final tap to her manila folder and the resounding slap of the gavel told her that court was in session.

Her client, Felix Saunders, was accused of date rape, a first date gone awry. She felt that the accusation wasn’t strong enough, though, seeing as the defense’s client had small inconsistencies every time she retold the story. Unnoticeable at first, but enough to realize that she was lying. Digging deeper and asking Felix more probing questions, it seemed that Hanna, the girl accusing him, had been stalking him for months and Felix had been close to filing a restraining order. He wasn’t able to, however, because of the accusation.

“Defense Attorney Rafael Barba,” the man introduced himself before springing into the case.

Barba, huh?

As she introduced herself when it was her turn, Barba’s eyes completely skipped over her to the file in front of him. Of course.

After a few minutes of cross-examining his client, Barba began to slowly look up, his blue-gray eyes stormed with confusion.

“He said that if I told anyone, he would hurt my mother,” the redhead, Hanna, responded to ____’s question, oddly calm.

“Earlier you told me that he would hurt your sister, so, which is it? Your mother or your sister?” ____ countered, tucking one hand into her pants pocket.

“He - he just said that he would hurt a loved one,” Hanna stuttered out, her eyes darting around the room to look at everything except at ____.

“A mother, a sister, a loved one - there seem to be a lot of discrepancies in who my client, Mr. Saunders was going to hurt. If there are holes in your story on that front, what else is there that you’re withholding?” Her eyes hardened and her voice took on the tone that had earned her the nickname, “Quicksilver”.   

“Your honor, the prosecution is badgering my client.” Barba shot out of his seat, looking between ____ and the judge.

“Overruled,” the judge said, the words ringing in finality.

“Nothing further,” she said, walking back and tapping her knuckles on her desk before sitting behind it.

Defense Attorney Rafael Barba seemed at a loss for words, the officers sitting behind him likewise staring in shock.

Check and mate.

After a few more hours of going back and forth, with the occasional head to head with her against Barba (with her besting him every time, much to his frustration), the jury found themselves ready to make a decision.

“We find defendant, Felix Saunders, not guilty of the charge of sexual assault.” The sound of the gavel announced to the room Felix’s innocence and Hanna’s perjury.

As ____ packed up her things, she could feel Barba’s quick glances on her back, annoying her to no end. They somehow ended up walking together, and she could feel how hard it was for him to swallow his pride and admit that he had been bested.

“Take a picture, counselor, it’ll last longer,” she said out of frustration, brushing her hair back again.

“There’s nothing of interest here that would warrant taking any sort of pictures,” he snapped back, beginning to part ways with her and readjusting his tie in place.

“Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she muttered under her breath, breaking into her hasty speed walk once again, this time to avoid any other back and forth with him.

She hoped that she would never have to see that brash, cold and calculating Assistant Defense Attorney in another courtroom ever again. A fool’s wish from the beginning, but a hope she had nonetheless.

It only took a few more weeks until she saw him in the courtroom again, and the tension was so palpable, ____ had to take a recess so she could calm her heart rate after an intense stare-off. But whatever happened outside of that room didn’t matter, because the minute she stepped foot inside, “Quicksilver” appeared and Barba was doomed from the start. He admittedly had gotten the best of her a few times, but when the final slam of the gavel sounded in her favor, she knew she had bested him once again.

“Por lo menos debería dejarme respirar por unos minutos,” Barba groaned, planting his hands firmly on his table as people filtered out of the courtroom behind him.

“Oye, no es mi culpa que ni sabes como respirar,” she replied, her brown eyes glinting with a hint of anger. How dare he insult her? And in Spanish, out of all languages? It wasn’t her fault that the supposed “best ADA of the precinct” (which she found out after her first encounter with him) was anything but!

Barba shot up suddenly, his mouth firing off without even thinking twice about it. “This is _my_ courtroom, and I don’t take kindly to nobodies usurping my place,” he hissed, his gray suit immaculate against his building irritation.

“How about you both take this out of the court,” a brunette came up in the middle of them. ____ later learned that it was Detective Olivia Benson, but in the heat of an argument, it didn’t matter.

“I actually don’t have to take this, especially from someone who seems to be choking on his pride every five minutes,” she scoffed, slinging her messenger bag over her shoulder and stalking out of the room. Besides, the bus was scheduled to come soon, and she didn’t have to waste her time arguing with the short man. ____ didn’t even have to look to know that Barba was boring a hole into her back.

Six weeks had passed since that encounter and she had, unfortunately, another case in which Rafael Barba was the defense attorney. It was as if SVU didn’t have any other lawyers on their team that weren’t as insufferable as Barba. Going head to head with him never failed to give her a headache, and she was sure that he was getting a migraine from her, too.

“Your honor, this argument is nonsensical on its face - what’s next? Is Mr. Barba going to bring in a murderer to tell us that killing people cleanses the world?” ____ said, exasperated at the fact that Barba’s witness was a sexual assailant, claiming that the relationships between him and students were “healthy” and “consensual”. Utterly preposterous.

“Mr. Franklin’s testimony reflects the culture that this academy has tried so hard to preserve - how else can we explain the fact that many of these relationships were occurring without any of them being reported? They were normalized, and about as common as trust funds,” Barba said, standing up beside his desk and looking at ___ as she walked by him to sit back at her table.

“Save it for the next march on Wall Street,” she bit out, another one of their stare downs happening as she passed by him to her seat.

Two hours later and a final word from the judge ended up closing the case. Somehow, Barba ended up winning, much to ___’s frustration. What completely made her blood boil was the little smirk he threw at her, reaffirming his victory. An audible huff escaped her lips as she put away her case files a bit more forcefully than normal. No matter how often she told herself that that was the last time she was going to see Rafael Barba, he always appeared before her a few weeks later like clockwork. At least the only place he seemed to exist was in the courtroom so she didn’t have to deal with him anywhere else.

At least, that’s what she thought.

Sleeping through one of her alarms, ____ had missed the bus and was going to get to her office at late o’ clock. It had started to rain half an hour ago and didn’t show any signs of stopping, unfortunately. At least the good thing about New York was that there were an endless supply of taxis, so flagging one down wouldn’t be a problem.

She had finally gotten a car to stop for her, pulling up her jacket collar in an effort to keep the droplets away (she was in such a hurry that she had left her umbrella slumping against her couch). The problem arose when a hand knocked into hers as they both had tried to reach for the car’s handle at the exact same time.

“I’m sorry, this taxi’s taken,” ____ said sweetly, putting on the tone that usually had people asking for forgiveness even if there was nothing to forgive.

As she looked up, she locked eyes with none other than Rafael Barba.

Unbelievable.

“I’m positive I called them first so --” Barba tried tugging open the car door and she immediately pushed it shut. The rain was now increasing, a thunder clap sounding a few miles behind them.

“No, _I_ called them down; didn’t you see me waving my hands for it?”

“Waving? Is that what you call what you were doing? It looked more like you were drowning,” he chuckled, making her nostrils flare angrily in response.

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t matter whether I was waving, drowning, or _dancing_ , I am taking this taxi and that’s the end of it!” Really? Taunting right at this minute? God help her.

As ____ tried to tug the door open, Barba pushed it shut just as she did to him a few seconds earlier.

“I’m sure you can get another cab, this one’s mine,” he replied, his growing frustration mimicking her own.

Both she and Barba turned to the sound of the cabbie rolling his passenger window down, giving the two of them a look of indignation.

“If you two can’t figure out who’s getting in, then none of you’s are getting a ride. At least not from me,” he gave them the ultimatum before waiting a split second for either one of them to respond. When neither did (out of shock), he shook his head and sped away, leaving the two of them to brace the pouring rain on their own.

“God, this is _just_ what I need,” ____ cried, throwing up her hands in exasperation before stalking away from Barba, her shoes making the most vexing squeaking sound.

She had walked a few feet before she heard the sound of shoes slapping against pavement right behind her. Even with the rain drenching her, she could still smell Barba’s cologne wrapping itself around her. ____ sighed, knowing that she wasn’t going to escape him this time.

“What brings you in this neighborhood, Mr. Barba?” If she had to walk with him, the least she could do was have some sort of conversation with him . . . even if that was the last thing she wanted.

“Frankly that’s none of your concern,” he replied without hesitation.

Ouch. Mean both in and _out_ of the courtroom. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise to her, of course.

“Well this is my neighborhood, so,” ____ left the statement hanging, letting him take it like he wanted.

There was a slight pause, almost as if he were debating whether and not to say anything, before he finally responded. “My mother and grandmother live in this neighborhood.”

Oh, so he has a soft side. Or any other side that wasn’t cold. Qué sorpresa. “So you were visiting and needed to get back to the office, I’m guessing.”

“Yes,” he said simply, cutting off any other type of conversation.   

The silence that settled between them was an odd mixture of comfortable and awkward. They had had enough conversations in the courtroom to know enough of each other, and to last each other a lifetime; anything besides legal jargon was pointless. However, that didn’t change the fact that they had just been left in the dust by a very pissed off cab driver, were now walking in the same direction, and had absolutely nothing in common to talk about. On a rainy day of all days, and all of this happening with Rafael Barba of _all_ people. He must’ve been thinking the same thing; there was no way he was letting this kind of “coincidence” slip his mind. It was quite literally laughable.

“I can’t believe out of all the people I had to fight with to get a cab, it had to be you,” ____ started to laugh in exasperation, like all of her distress about him had piled up so high that the only way to unpack it was to laugh about it.

“Likewise,” he muttered, his hand tightening around his umbrella. ____ swore she could hear a crack of laughter escaping his gloomy façade.

____ tried running her hands through her hair, but her fingers met a soaking mop of locks. It was _just_ like her to forget her umbrella. This reminded her of the time she left her apartment with one shoe on and she was in such a hurry that she hadn’t even noticed until she had reached her office and her shoes needed tying. Of course, it was her _only_ shoe that needed tying.

“I feel like I should be surprised that you left your home without an umbrella, but I’d probably be lying,” Barba said suddenly, moving towards her a bit closer and using his umbrella to protect her from the rain’s wreaking havoc.

“And I feel like I should be insulted from your lack of surprise, but I’d be lying too,” ____ sighed, accepting his offering begrudgingly.

A smirk tugged at his lips, but this time ____ didn’t feel like it was malicious. The Rafael Barba she had been going head to head against seemed almost . . . human, as strange as that sounded. She only knew him in the courtroom, and even then he treated his clients with clean-cut precision. Of course, ____ could occasionally pierce his armor with her quick wit and empathy that left him reeling; the only emotion, besides frustration, she was able to get out of him.

“You know Barba, you’re not as insufferable as I thought you to be,” ____ said matter-of-factly, making Barba blink in surprise.

“Now it’s _my_ turn to feel insulted,” he scoffed, shifting the hand not holding the umbrella into his pocket, his demeanor relaxing just a fraction.

“Not an insult, just an observation,” she replied, her lips wrestling into a grin. She spotted another taxi coming in close, flagging it down and watching it slow down for her. Turning towards the man, she gave him a small wave to which he gave her one in response.

“I also didn’t imagine you to be a conversationalist; we should do this again sometime, minus the angry taxi driver and rain, Ms. ____,” Barba called out to her, his eyes focusing on her until all she could see was stormy blue-gray.

____ responded with a small, imperceptible nod before sliding into the cab, shutting the door behind her.

Did. . . Rafael Barba ask her out?

On a date? No, of course not.

Unbelievable.

The slight blush that brushed her cheeks seemed to suggest otherwise.

With the way fate had been working for her lately, ____’s next few cases were Barba-less. As a pro-bono lawyer, she rarely found herself working cases with uncommon amounts of violence. The few cases that she worked against Barba were strokes of luck, and so the weeks after their rainy encounter were oddly quiet. The times that she went up against Barba were, admittedly, the most fun she had had since leaving grad school all those years ago. She loved working pro-bono, that much she knew, but that didn’t change the fact that she had really been itching to argue for. . . most likely months.

____ didn’t have a lot of time to reminisce, though; during one of her cases, she noticed that Barba was sitting in the back of the courtroom, watching silently as she defended her client.

She caught sight of him when she turned to the jury to talk about her client’s experiences as a marginalized person when her eyes hooked onto the brown, peppered hair that was brushed into a side part. Dressed in an impeccable suit of charcoal complimented with a green tie, he stood out even among the waves of faces.

Her heart stuttered for a split second before picking up her argument with more vivacity, not turning to look back at him until she was sure she had won her case.

And she did.

As people filtered out of the courthouse, ____ began to shove her things into her messenger bag (being orderly and quick didn’t really go hand in hand). She could feel Rafael Barba’s presence behind her.

“It’s a lot different seeing you from the bench than it is sitting right next to you,” he said, his eyes glinting with something ____ wasn’t sure what to make of.

“I hope it’s a good thing,” she replied, noticing the way that they were both the same height. He always seemed much shorter than her for some reason. Probably from all the glaring down at him it felt like she was constantly doing.

“Depends on who’s going against you.” Barba gestured in front of him, letting ____ leave first. She murmured a small thanks, not sure what to make of the Barba that wasn’t in a courtroom hissing at her, and also unsure of the slight fluttering going on in her stomach.

“I guess that means it was terrible being on the receiving end, huh?” she teased, a smile tugging on her lips.

“Truly awful,” he replied, gracing her with another one of his small grins.

____ could feel the muscles in her stomach locking up. God, she was too old to be having some sort of school girl crush. It was embarrassing, really. But again, she hadn’t dated or anything remotely like it after her last girlfriend left her. Amicably, but it had still stung nonetheless.

“I was going to get dinner, want to come along? Or do you have other ADA duties to attend to?” ____ brushed a lock of hair behind her ear, hoping her voice didn’t come out as weak as she felt.

There was a slight moment of hesitation on his end that deflated her courage a bit. It was fine, he was a busy man so it was no big deal if --

“What did you have in mind?”

____’s eyes lit up in response. “This place called Liebman’s in The Bronx. They have really good hot dogs and it’s my favorite.” Wait, did he even like hot dogs? His suits looked expensive, and she didn’t know if he only liked eating at those upscale restaurants that only gentrifiers could afford. Not that he was a gentrifier, but -- oh God, she just really needed to stop thinking for a few minutes and hear what he was saying.

Now it was Barba’s turn for his eyes to light up. “Liebman’s? I ate there when I was a kid,” he said, sounding as if he was far away. ____ wondered what it was that he was reminiscing about.

Taking that as a confirmation, they began to take the trek all the way to the little shop, talking about the places they used to eat at (when they could afford to go out), and finding out that they actually lived in really close proximity to each other in The Bronx before he left for Harvard for undergrad.

“Te lo juro, I couldn’t remember being so thankful for my mother’s food whenever I could go home,” he said, waving around a fry.

He had taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves earlier, relaxing his demeanor even further. ____ noticed that he was wearing green suspenders, something that she never noticed since he always seemed to have his blazer on. She found the fact that he wore suspenders to be oddly charming.

“You’re preaching to the choir! Northwestern couldn’t cook arroz y frijoles to save its life,” she countered, taking a bite out of her hot dog.

“Es un desastre, I’m telling you. Ivy league universities cooking subpar food never ceases to amaze me.” When he looked down to grab another fry, ____ found herself staring at him a split second longer than usual.

“Really tragic,” she laughed.

Barba paused before looking up at her, the look in his eyes undecipherable.

“Tell me,” he began. “Why haven’t I seen you before the Saunders case.” he took a sip of his Coke, waiting patiently for her response.

“Barba --”

“Rafael,” he cut her off, giving her that same small grin.

“Rafael,” she conceded. “I do a lot of pro-bono work. It really depends on what case is of interest, and who I know I can save from the chopping block.” ____ brushed another strand of hair back and popped a fry into her mouth in one smooth motion.

“And it just so happens that after the Saunders case I see you more frequently,” Rafael sounded dubious.

She shrugged in response. “I honestly couldn’t tell you. Coincidence, possibly?”

“Yes, and a coincidence that I stumbled upon you as we were getting into the same cab,” he laughed, a playful rumbling sound.

____ could feel her breath catch in her throat.

“Coincidence,” she replied with reassurance, breaking eye contact with him.

As it began to get late, they decided that dinner was over and it was time to part ways to their respective apartments.

“Good night, Rafael,” ____ said, adjusting her bag’s strap on her shoulder.

“I’m sure I’ll see you soon in the courtroom, ____,” he replied, giving her a small wave.

Of course, he was right -- two weeks later and they had another case together, but this time he was the prosecutor and she the defense attorney.

“My client has been forthcoming with all of the information that she knows. The same can’t be said for Mr. Herring’s history with compulsive lying, a habit I’m sure has taken him this far in the case,” ____ said after cross-examining Joseph Herring, a man accused of sexually assaulting his neighbor’s seventeen-year-old daughter.

“Objection. Ms. ____’s remarks are speculation.” Barba shot out of his seat, taken aback by the turn her questioning had gone.

“A speculation to be proven in this court of law, your honor,” she replied, pulling out copies of Herring’s medical records for both Barba and the judge.

“Don’t go digging for old skeletons you’re not ready to see,” Barba leaned close to her as she walked back to her desk, his eyes boring into hers.

“Luckily I brought a shovel, so I’m more than willing and ready,” she replied, the imagined thread that was drawing them close together was almost visible. His eyes darted from her eyes to her lips for a split second; she wasn’t sure if she had imagined it or not.

“I see your point,” the judge called out, breaking them from their staring match. This time, it seemed a lot more charged than usual; a charge that ____ was unfamiliar with.

At the end of the day, the case ended in a stalemate -- to be resolved at a later date while the jury poured over the facts that both ____ and Barba slung back and forth at them. This time ____ wasn’t upset; this wasn’t a loss for her, and she wasn’t planning on it being one. The same could be possibly said, however, for Rafael Barba.

“I haven’t gone against you in court for almost two months and you go all out,” he said to her in the hallways, breaking away from the other detectives that were on either side of him.

“Well, I can’t slack off now can I?” ____ adjusted her dark blue chiffon blouse, her new dress an effort to look semi-nice.

“Without a doubt. ____, do you have any plans for tonight?” Barba loosened his tie slightly.

“Nothing in particular -- why?” If it’s what she thought it was going to be, she wasn’t sure how she would respond.

“Dinner. Liebman’s at 8?” He opened the door leading out of the building for her.

A small but bright smile spread across her face, causing Rafael’s own smirk to slightly falter. “Sure.”

 

*

 

 

Three years after their first encounter, they made it a habit to go out to Liebman’s every two weeks. Seeing as Rafael Barba was a man of habit, their arrangement seemed to work out quite nicely.

After an intense and heated discussion about who made the best tortas -- the vendedora that lived up the street from Rafael’s mother’s house or ____’s abuelita’s, it was starting to get late. What ____ had expected were the usual ‘Good night’s’ and ‘I’ll see you soon’s’, but she had been taken by surprise when instead of saying his usual send-off, Rafael took ahold of her hand, his being a bit rough with calluses, but nonetheless appealing.

____’s heart stuttered a little bit at the sudden closeness. She would have been lying if she had said that she didn’t like her hand grasping Rafael’s. The past three years that she had known him, she had been completely entranced by him; what she had at first saw as coldness and calculation was him proceeding with caution, only wanting the best for the person he was representing. His swift, cunning manner was much like her own, which was why she found it to be so frustrating. But she saw herself reflected in him, someone marginalized trying to make it in the messed-up world that they were brought in.

To tell the truth, she was utterly in love with Rafael Barba. She just wasn’t sure if he felt the same.

Sure, she was probably one of the few women he spoke to on a regular basis, but that didn’t change the fact that he treated her just like any other friend. Not that she disliked it of course -- being his friend was one of the many blessings to have come into her life, but she wanted something else. Something tangible, and intimate.

Something like the way he just now pressed her knuckles to his lips.

“____, I knew it when you walked into the courtroom that day three years ago. You looked a mess,” he said, threading his fingers through hers.

She huffed, but he continued before she could say anything in retaliation.

“I thought you couldn’t possibly have known what you were doing. But the moment you started to speak, I knew I screwed up; you proved me wrong. Time and time again, when we found ourselves caught in the rain, the first time you asked me to eat at Leibman’s; I always think I know what you’re going to do next, but you prove me wrong. I just hope that one of these days I’ll be right,” Rafael moved his hand from her arm, to her shoulder, and eventually her cheek, cupping it and feeling like he was holding a breath of roses.

“You’re . . . everything,” he finally murmured, leaning towards her and she met him halfway, wanting the kiss so much she could feel an ache in her chest.

It was simultaneously one of the softest and roughest kisses she’d ever had in her life. His lips pressed against hers gently, but the slight stubble on his chin scratched against her face like a cat’s whiskers. She loved every minute of it.

And she loved him, too.

When they had pulled apart, she placed her forehead on his, the warmth drawing between them and the mixture of his cologne with her perfume made her want to be like that with him forever.

“Raf, you were the one that put the offer of dinner on the table first, remember?” ____ furrowed her eyebrows in confusion as Rafael laughed, the sound never failing to make her lips quirk up in response.

“You technically asked me out to dinner the first time - it threw me completely in for a loop,” he brushed his fingers over her knuckles as they walked down the sidewalk, their shoes splashing against the New York rain puddles.


End file.
